Her Strength
by SacredRoseDream
Summary: Companion piece to His Eyes. Ulquiorra's thoughts on Orihime.


**Her Strength:**** Companion piece to His Eyes.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Bleach.**

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She was the only one that could stir these strange feelings within him. This onna with fiery hair.

He was a hollow, an arrancar. A being captivated by sorrow and propelled by the insatiable hunger for a heart. Unlike the fools he called comrades he had given up pretense. His achingly long existence taught him of the futility of life, hope was a solemn, sordid dream that only lead to greater pain. In this empty world sorrow was king and nothingness was the only respite. Each cannibalistic transformation from lowly menos to greater gillian to sentient adjuchas to deadly vasto lorde until at last he became arrancar had stolen away his hope, as though each hollow devoured was another piece of him lost.

Existence had no meaning.

He was resigned to feeling nothing. Nothing, but the persistent hunger for knowledge in this futile search for the heart and the cold distaste for all things. Readily he spurned the notion of frivolous emotions. He was cold, blank, the perfect paragon of nihilism…until her.

In his time as her captor he had somehow changed, the process so gradual, so fleeting he was not sure how or when it had happened, only the sure certainty that it was because of her. He supposed he should have known. That first flicker of admiration in face of her strange power; the impossible admiration of her strength… he should have known it was only a matter of time until his fall.

Still it captivated him churning burning inquiries in his mind. This woman so frail in stature and tossed into hopelessness, how could she keep hope? Did she not see the unending sorrow awaiting her? The devious anguish laying upon the horizon? He knew she did yet still she remained, steadfast, certain. Strong in ways he couldn't quite comprehend.

Her strength.

_He could feel it, the force of her reiatsu pulsing against his own. Lone she stood amongst the white, something brilliant and colorful in an otherwise empty world. He reached for her and she trembled, her limbs sent to life. Yet desire and not fear held her, that incomprehensible compassion permeating her form. Though lone and strange within this broken world she stood unbroken, untainted, willing beneath his hands._

Incomprehensible, inexplicable. He was in awe of her strength. Like the last flower blooming amongst a field of snow, she refused to wilt. Instead her petals remained vibrant and strong, blooming in the meager light of a cold moon determined and undeterred. Captivated, struck, stirred in ways he could not understand. She was the sun where there was none. And he, the colder moon, could only give chase, endlessly, undeniably draw to the strength of her light. Endlessly warm. Perpetually bright.

Her eyes.

_Magnetized, he felt his gaze seek hers inscrutable somethings coiling within his form. Elusive, enigmatic some hidden fire shone in those eyes and he felt himself moving forwards, hands grasping those breakable arms as he drew her closer. What was it about this onna that moved him so?_

Those eyes. What was it about those eyes that forced his gaze to hers? Soft grey tinted with the faintest lilac. She had the most expressive eyes. She cried and there were churning clouds. She smiled and it was the first touch of spring. She laughed and purple-hued stars rose in a waning twilight. Seized. Compelled. He wanted those eyes. To tear or destroy? To keep or to care? He did not know. He wasn't sure. He only knew he could stare forever into those eyes.

Her smile.

_His breath caressed her skin and she sighed, leaning in the circle of his arms. How had this affair started? These midnight assignations? He could no longer remember, the fall so gradual the moments sifted like grains of sand across those bone white dunes. Time held no meaning for the perpetual. His fingers caressed that tawny skin such a startling contrast to his own and she smiled. That incredible, shocking smile and something in him shattered._

He loved it. He hated it. He wanted to tear it from her face. Those sweet lips so incredibly soft, so full, so hot. They curled in such unfathomable ways. Smooth and sure, soft and sweet, trembling and broken, bright and sharp. She had an endless array of smiles so oddly compelling, so strangely stirring. The world could end and still she would smile. He found himself craving that smile, that soft curve of lips. Found himself wanting to devour them as though he could drink in her many expressions.

Her words.

_Cold, caustic, he warned her of those broken things. Of fate most cruel and knowledge most spurred and heard her calling answer. The fear he half desired would not come, too strong was she. No crueler fate or harsher promise would lure her from her quarry. Too strong, too sure her conviction. This he so strange so dangerously different could not deter her from her course. For though his words grew cruel and kind her own wrapped tighter than the tightest vise._

That lilting voice. It was filled with an unnerving softness. The syllables, they fell in such a hypnotic rhythm. He wanted without wanting, those sweetly spoken sounds. Yet her words, they disturbed him, reaching into places long forgotten and awakening things unmentionable. Those surely spoken words, they resounded through his head. Tortured, tainted, he fell into the agony of her words, savoring them with a vicious stillness as they brought a glorifying pain. The pieces of his resolve, they faded like the wind. Through her words, he was transformed.

Her form.

_So utterly enchanting this strangely powerful ningen. Laid like an offering in her mantle of white. Beautiful, tangible, inexplicable she stirred the vices long forgotten within him and for her he grew warm. Warm to match her heated fire, warmer still to tame her light. His fingers played across the edges, pushing at those smooth garments, soon and too soon she was bare to him._

Never had he cared for the female form. Its strange curves and unique softness held no sway over him. Yet dressed in that pristine white he found something seeping into his blood, a strange and sudden admiration overtaking him. The high rise of her breast, the curve of her hip, they drew his eyes. Her softness, it beckoned, urging him, enticing him to sample its softness and feel the odd surety of the differences between them. Through her he realized what was male.

Her purity.

_So sweet. So strong. She shone like some forbidden thing enticingly in the shadows. The pale luminescence of that half-moon caressing her skin and her hair was a flame, glowing light in the darkness. Her diminutive form, how could it possess such an enticing brightness greater than any star in that endless night? His fingers played against her skin, the rhythmic melody she so adored and he saw her shine so intensely light, grown brighter, purer for his destructive darkness. _

She glowed like something fierce and white. A blazing star in the deepest night. Crowned with darkness, caressed by shadow, she shone so intensely his body ached. That fire so strong and sure, he could barely bare it. Sorrow, he could see it lingering in the depths of those enchanting eyes yet still she remained pure. That darkness which curled so softly against the edges of her form, it only made her more pristine. He was tantalized by it. Her purity. He wanted to take her. To defile her. To make her as tainted as he. He wanted to hold her, protect her. To keep that unfathomable purity strong and bright. He wanted to intensify her.

Her hands.

_Those tiny appendages sought his hair brushing against the proud horn of his helm and he sought her lips with his. So strange this act, this kissing, yet he found himself tempted, craving more. His hand moved in echo, wrapping within her silken tresses, his mouth commanding hers. Yet it was he who was the puppet, played skillfully by those fragile hands. She spoke and he obeyed, wanting, unwilling, and carried too far. _

So small and delicate. So soft. So warm. How could these tiny hands have seized him so? He could feel the thinness of her bone, the arching palm and fragile skin. So breakable. The darkness whispered of how her bone would crack and crunch so easily… Yet it was those which moved with such an incredible gentility he leaned helplessly in to their touch. Those hands twined with his and he was overcome. So breakable. Yet it was he who was broken.

Her scent.

_She stole his thoughts, his mind, his soul as wrapped so tightly was he within her. Her breathing stirred by his desire, so frail and helpless yet sure, yet strong. Closer than close, if form would permit he drew her deep within him. Seeking to share that breath she held and drowning in that endless life. For married this way there could be nothing else._

She smelled of things he had never scented before. Of faraway dreams and hopes unsung. Of things that grew and bloomed and basked in that irresistible sun. She smelled of life and blustering winds. She smelt of dawn and forgotten things. So enchantingly irresistible his lungs breathed deep as though breathing her could share with him that vibrant life. He wanted to steal it, her fragrance, tear it from her limbs and savor it slowly as though her essence could gift him the answer he so endlessly sought.

Her taste.

_He stole her mouth, her throat, her jaw intoxicated by her urging whines. That secret fragrance blossomed on his tongue urging him, enticing and he fought and strained. Too close, too sweet, too eerily drunk, he felt that inevitable something rise. He hated, he coveted, he raged, he lusted all for the whole of her. _

She tasted of the air on a summer night, so crisp and clear and somehow bright. Of things both oddly sweet and fine. Like the heated spice in a well-mulled wine. That strange sweetness salted by sin, the subtle spice of her tongue, it made him want to consume her. Intoxicated, entrapped, addicted, he supped and fed, compelled to drink in her inebriating flavour.

Her heart.

_Bursting, blazing. He was consumed by this burning fire. Too soon the fall. Too much. Too late. He felt her shudder and grasp and cry, some unnerving care suffusing his touch. There was too much and not enough, this foreign hunger seeking. And as her breathing slowed, then stilled, to deep exhales and blissful sighs some stilting calm seeped into his world, stilling the imperceptible chaos that quelled within his chest. And he thought he knew a little more, that thing she called a heart._

What was the heart? Where was it from? He craved that searing answer. Was it this warmth beating in his chest, the frantic flurry in her own? She swore she knew and called it bonds. Yet what were bonds but broken things? Was it the light that speared her soul, or the aching sweetness of she and he? Yet bound like this in flesh and flesh, caressed, compelled, consumed by that ineffable something, he found he did not care so much.

For there was nothing and there was too much in the face of this inexplicable something.

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_**Hello again all! Hope you liked this piece. I know I am skiving off on writing my Naruto-fics that I agree, I should absolutely get working on, but lately my inspiration has been more Ulquihime centered. Hopefully my muse will get back on track soon so please be patient.**_

_**Thought it might be nice to see Ulquiorra's side so thus this piece was born. Like Orihime, Ulquiorra is a bit of a complicated character to write. **_

_**While easier to understand than Orihime, he seems to be that contradicting mix of the strong, cold, and impassively cruel with vulnerable, lost, and desirous. A bit like a child that has been so battered and beaten by life they have chosen to abandon everything adapting to only cold logic which deep inside fervently seeking the love they were denied but afraid and unsure of every new emotion. **_

_**Anyway enough of my chatter.**_

_**Review please!**_

_**-SacredRoseDream**_


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